L'Apôtre De La Lune
by Kohana-Umeko
Summary: Marco is the son of one of the most successful CEO's in the country. Jean is an assassin with a double identity. When fate tangles them together, they find themselves, and those around them, in a situation more sticky than they expected.
1. Pardonnez-Moi

His breathing was calm and relaxed; heartbeat slow and steady. The metal beams beneath his feet groaned slightly in protest to his weight, and in the mere fraction of a second, he was readjusting himself before the sound could reach anyone's ears but his own.

After checking the placement of his feet and taking another slow, cautious step forward, amber eyes flitted down towards the target, locking in place. Jean was the cat, and he was the mouse; unsuspecting and completely oblivious to the imminent danger looming just overhead.

The short, balding man was whistling cheerfully, and rather loudly, to himself, unknowingly providing extra cover for Jean if he were to slip up. Which he wouldn't. He never did.

He allowed himself a quick, dark smirk before sidling his way around a pipe jutting its way in-between the support beams beneath his boots, wrapping his glove-clad fingers tightly against the slick metal and pushing himself around to the other side.

As he continued on, feet arched and hands gripping the beams below, holding himself in place as he crawled forward, the man reached his car at last, bending forward after popping the trunk to dig around, leaving himself, and his back, completely exposed.

_ Now. _

He slipped from the beams without a sound, landing softly on the soles of his feet and crouching as he came into contact with the cold asphalt below. After removing the knife that he had balanced in between his narrow lips and rising to stand, his expression became ominous as he began to move, intent on his prey.

His steps were inaudible as he approached, remaining undetected by the man who continued to sift through the confines of the trunk, for something which would cease to hold any relevance in a matter of seconds.

He stopped a foot away from the stout man, twirling the thin stiletto between his slender fingers, eyes pinpointing the exposed skin on the back of his neck.

As he straightened up, holding in front of him what appeared to be a black, wool coat, Jean snapped into motion; navigating his hand around the man's broad shoulder, he rapidly snapped his head to the side, using his other to bring the knife around and quickly, and effectively, slash it across the skin of his throat in one swift movement. He hadn't even had time to gasp.

He emitted what sounded like a gurgled cry, before becoming dead weight against Jean, arms falling limply to his sides and the coat fluttering, forgotten, back into the trunk. The blood, flowing freely down the front of the man's dark business suit, splattered against the asphalt below in one sickening gush, and Jean crinkled his nose before gingerly shifting his weight to let the man fall into the trunk of his car with a '_thunk_'.

As he stood back, tucking the dagger back into its sheath beneath his shirt, he raked his eyes over the grisly scene before him; the ground was pooling with blood, glistening in the dim, occasionally flickering lights overhead. A trail of the fluid lead up the tail end of the car, and to the corpse that was spilling it, which was dangling precariously out of the trunk. It's limbs were sprawled messily, knees buckled together. There was no dignity in this death.

Sighing, he let his eyes slide closed, his expression somber as he turned away, starting for the exit. "Je suis désolé, s'il vous plaît pardonnez-moi."

He'd done this a thousand times before, and this man was no more than another lifeless corpse being tossed along the sidelines of Jean's too-long, blood-soaked path, that single, horrendous mole being the only trait differentiating him from all of his other faceless victims.

Balancing a cigarette in between his lips, he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jacket, scrolling until he found the name he was looking for.

It rang twice.

"It's done." He said around the filter, bringing a lighter up and flicking it, letting the flames lick the end.

"Good."

The call dropped then, and Jean tossed the phone back into its respective place, taking a drag as he stepped out of the parking garage and onto the empty sidewalk.

White clouds of vapor were stolen from his lips as his warm breath met the frigid air. The heavy wind, which mercilessly ripped through the city, bit at the exposed skin of his face and neck, leaving it stingingly cold.

Ducking his head further down past the upturned collar of his jacket, he continued on, taking one last hit of his cigarette before flicking it to the side.

It was time to go home.

* * *

**Notes:**

**WIP. I thought I'd just go ahead post the beginning of it.**  
**I've actually taken care to plan out the plot to this ehe**  
**hope you enjoyed!**

**Translations:**

**Je suis désolé, s'il vous plaît pardonnez-moi :: I'm sorry, please forgive me.**


	2. Le Chat et La Souris

"Robert Bodt?"

"Yes."

"What about his son? Fubar said he was there as well, sir."

"Eliminate the target, don't be seen. If you _are_ seen, eliminate them as well."

"But, th-"

"Do I need to_ repeat _myself?"

"...No, sir."

"Good."

* * *

Marco sighed in exhaustion as he sorted the last file into its proper place, raking a hand through his already messy hair before sitting back onto the tiled floor. "Finally done." He breathed, tilting his head back and rolling it in-between his shoulders in effort to loosen some of the tension that had settled there. He'd been in the same, hunched over stance for nearly thirty minutes now; being in any other position now was almost orgasmic.

How long had he been at this?

He brought his watch up to eye level, glancing at it.

It was close to midnight, and the office was still; everyone else having headed home for the evening, to their families and warm beds.

The silence that blanketed over the space was almost eerie.

His father, Robert Bodt, had somehow roped him into staying _far_ past the standard business hours to help with additional paper work that needed to be filled out and filed away after a huge surge in sales; legal documents of some sort, Marco wasn't too sure on the details.

And of course, he had been more than happy to oblige; he didn't get to be around the man as often as he would have liked, so any time he offered something like this, Marco jumped at the chance.

Though...

He wouldn't exactly qualify this as 'Father-Son bonding'

Mr. Bodt was currently hidden away in his office, away from sight, and unfortunately, away from Marco; leaving him alone to do the dirty work and_ file papers. _

Marco wrinkled his nose, glancing back over at the now tidy filing cabinets in obvious distaste.

But he wasn't complaining (_ok... maybe a little_). Because of his father's position as CEO, he was _more_ than well off, allowing him to breeze through college without ever having to worry about drowning in debt, as so many other's his age did. So, looking at it from that angle, it wasn't like it would _kill _him to help out a little; no matter how tedious and boring the tasks were.

Arching his back a little, he stretched his hands out in front of him, groaning in relief as the tendons within his arms popped and cracked, before bringing them up to rest on the back of his neck. He tilted his head upwards again, staring at the white marble tiles above.

_God, it's late. What I wouldn't do for some coffee and actual food right now._

As his thoughts drifted towards the coffee machine in the lobby, and what he remembered to be a vending machine adjacent to it, he became vaguely aware of the creeping sensation of being watched. Subtly, he rolled his head in the direction of his father's office, playing it off as another tension relieving movement.

But his father had his back to him; sifting through an assortment of documents strewn about the desk before him.

Frowning, he looked forward again, dropping his hands from his neck and toying with a loose, frayed thread at the bottom of his sweater. _Must be my imagination. _

But the feeling did not cease.

Becoming slightly uneasy, he stood, casting an anxious glance around the dim, empty office. His gaze lingered momentarily on a dark corner at the opposite end of the room, the back of his mind telling him that he had seen…. _something_. But after several minutes of staring into the desolate, inky blackness, he turned away, looking behind himself and feeling a little stupid for doing so.

He had the sudden urge to call out, "_Hello?_" as he'd seen done a million times over by the stars of every horror movie to date. But he bit it back, nearly laughing at himself.

_Why am I being so jumpy? _He thought, opting to ignore it and instead start off in the direction of the lobby. _This entire building is locked down. There's no __way__ anyone could get in here. And even if they did, security is downstairs. They would have stopped them from coming this far up, surely. _

He halted in his tracks, images of a certain scene from '_The Grudge_' filling his mind, and cast another wary look over his shoulder.

Nothing.

He slapped a hand down over his face as he began walking again, snorting. _Oh my god I'm such an idiot. Maybe I __should__ start listening to Dad and stop watching so many horror movies... _

_ ...Nahhh. _

So caught up in the aspect of some, apparently, much needed caffeine, and laughing at his own expense, he failed to notice the tall, slim figure, tucking itself further into a dark corner as he passed by.

* * *

As the foot falls faded, finally becoming nothing more than a barely notable tapping in the distance, Jean relaxed from his stock-still position, much resembling that of a cornered cat, hackles raised. Though, apparently, that's what he had become the second that freckled inconvenience had become a little_ too _aware. But, unknowingly saving his own life, he had shrugged it off as nothing, settling to instead go off to wherever it was that he had gone.

Jean needed to act, and soon.

Falling back away from the wall that he had accidentally trapped himself against, and into the light, he let his hooded, whiskey eyes do a calculated sweep of the room, insuring himself that he was actually alone. Once he was sure of this, he began moving forward, the target's glass walled office in his sights.

"_That sounded like a close call_." A soft voice breathed into his ear, causing him to freeze in place, jolting slightly. He thanked the gods, or whoever was out there, that his 'co workers' could only hear him, and not see the miniature heart attack they had just given him. He would more than likely never hear the end of it from a certain emerald eyed bastard if that were not the case.

"Yeah." He murmured, keeping his voice just below a whisper as he pressed his back against the wall, just to the left of the glass, setting to work on sliding a sleek, silenced M9 from where it had been strapped against his calf. He'd rather keep this as clean as possible, seeing as it was likely that his own child would find him.

He felt a pang of regret, his guts twisting uncomfortably.

_No one should have to go through that. _

As he double checked that the weapon was loaded and ready to go, he clenched his jaw, pushing the feeling aside and concentrating instead on the feel of the chilled handgun that he grasped. "I thought I'd be able to slip past the kid, but then he looked _right_ at me. There wasn't much else to do other than wait it out."

Reiner's loud, boisterous voice cut in then, more than likely shoving poor Bertholdt out of the way to get in his two cents, and Jean frantically worked at turning the volume down on the piece before his eardrum's life was cut short. "_You say 'kid' like he's that much younger than you, yet you can't be more than, what, twenty?_"

Jean rolled his eyes as he peered around the wall and through the glass, checking the target's position. He still had his back to him.

_Perfect._

"Twenty_ three_. You're so sweet to remember, babe." With expert fingers, he switched the safety off and cocked it. "Now, will you kindly shut the fuck up? I'm a little busy at the moment."

There was muffled laughter from the other end. "_Yeah, yeah. I hear ya. Go get em'_." With that, the static in the ear piece cut out, signaling that they had gone offline.

Peeling himself away from the wall and clutching the pistol in both hands, he maneuvered himself in a practiced side step towards the door, eyes trained on the back of the elder Bodt.

As he reached the door, removing one hand from the weapon and sliding it towards the handle, someone spoke up behind him.

"Um, hello?"

Jean whirled, heart beating frantically against his ribs like a caged bird, desperate to escape. The gun was trained in front of him, finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger. His breathing was breathing quick and erratic, the sound foreign to his own ears.

Jean Kirschtein was never the one snuck up on.

He found himself standing a mere ten feet away from the target's son.

He was tall, but only slightly taller than Jean, his disheveled, dark hair standing out in contrast to his lightly tanned skin, which was smattered with an array of freckles, spasmodically strewn across his cheeks and nose. His eyes, which were wide with fear at the moment, were almost as dark as his hair, but glimmered with something more akin to sable in the one, annoying bright fluorescent light just over his head.

The bag of Doritos that had been grasped in one of his hands, slipped from his fingers as he stared back at Jean, his lips parting slightly, and he knew what he was going to do.

_Shit._

Pulling himself out of his shocked, slack stance, he held the gun straighter, his finger inching towards the trigger, almost as if in slow motion.

_I didn't want to have to kill you. _

_ I'm sorry._

Before he could, though, Robert Bodt's son threw the scalding drink that had been clutched in his other hand at him, with surprising accuracy he might add, and thoroughly doused him in coffee, before tearing off in the direction of the stairs at record speed.

It was almost comical, and Jean would have laughed; had he not been pissed and soaked with still steaming cappuccino.

_Why do they always have to make it so much harder than it has to be?_

Growling, he began the chase, a deep scowl etched into his features as he tucked the M9 loosely into the strap against his thigh.

He was more difficult to keep up with than Jean would have ever imagined. _A lot _more difficult. Who would have guessed that a guy built like that could be packing so much speed? It was sort of impressive, actually. Key words being: _sort of_.

As they reached the final floor, the new target made a sharp, unexpected turn, causing Jean to crash headlong into a wall in effort to follow.

_This is laughable. Just downright fucking __hilarious__._

Pushing himself away from the wall in fury, he threw himself into a stumbling run with new found, rage driven velocity.

Finally, they reached the lobby, and he found the poor guy snapping his head in every direction, his stance wide and panicked. He was no doubt looking for the security, who were, if Jean was remembering correctly, which he _was_ due to the endless hours put into memorizing the schedule of this particular building, making their rounds.

_This is just not your lucky day._

He noticed Jean, then, jerking himself around and emitting a small squeak, before reeling back around and making a dash.

Straight towards the front doors.

Jean couldn't help but smirk at his efforts.

When he found that they were locked, just as Jean knew they would be, he kicked them, pounding on the glass door once with both fists before stilling, and slowly turning to face him.

His expression was downright terrified, to say the least, and Jean felt a stabbing sensation in his heart as he stared back at him.

His eyes were wide, wider than they had been; the look of atleast a _glimmer _of hope at surviving this nightmare void from them. He was trapped; he knew that he was going to die. His fate was sealed.

_And that's all because of me._

He'd never had to do this; stare someone right into their eyes before he killed them. Hell, he usually never even gave them a chance to even turn around, let alone be afraid. They never knew what hit them.

He preferred it that way. Never having to give a face to his victims, never having to see their fear stricken faces, reminding him of just what kind of person he was.

And he _was_ that kind of person.

The static in his ear piece picked up again, a voice following shortly after.

"_I don't know what the fuck you're doing, but you need to hurry up. You're running out of time, and we are way over due. You need to get out of there_._ Now_." The line cut out again.

Clenching his jaw, his expression grim, he reached for his gun.

_Orders are orders, after all. _

Seeming to pick up on what was about to happen, the man before him, yet again, darted, making a beeline to the left.

Jean sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He wished that he would just stop. He really didn't want to kill him, as it was, and this was about as gut wrenching to watch as seeing a helpless, tiny mouse try to avoid being eaten by the snake that it was caged with for as long as possible.

It was downright pathetic.

A sound to his left, along with a tiny, relieved cry, had him tearing open his eyes and whirling.

_A fucking side exit, god dammit all. Why was that not in the fucking blueprints?_

As the door slammed shut behind him, Jean vacantly considered just letting him go. Freeing the mouse and letting it escape, because after all, it had worked so hard.

But he couldn't do that. That would mean his ass being handed to him on a silver platter by Rivaille, and he definitely wasn't going through _that_ again.

As he exited the building, gaze darting to the left and right of the alley way he had stepped out into, he just barely caught the fleeting sight of a leg disappearing behind a wall.

_Please be a dead end_. He thought, quickening his pace to a fast walk until he came where the alleys were joined.

A quiet, defeated, "_Shit_," confirmed this, and he all that he could really feel was sympathy.

_No where else for you to run, petite souris. It was fun while it lasted. _

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, and exhaling through his nose, he swung around the corner, gun aimed.

And then,

darkness.

* * *

**Notes:**

**i have no idea how i got this done so quickly, it usually takes me 40 years to get three sentences down, but, enjoy!**


	3. Acte de Bienfaisance

Marco's thoughts were in chaos; mind racing as his dark eyes flitted about the dark alley, probing it for a means of escape. The blood pounding in his ears muted all other sounds to him, making it easier to focus on the one and only thing that mattered to him right now;

Staying alive.

As he stood in panic, breaths coming out in short, erratic pants and stealing away what little he had to offer, he realized that his options were running thin; nowhere to run, or hide, no weapon, and no one within ear shot to help him.

He was fucked.

Big time.

Marco had never been this scared in his life. But then again, he had never had any reason to be. He lived a normal, sheltered life; he'd never been in any fights, never had any near death experiences, and though his father's high position and income had caused a lot of preconceived notions of him, he'd never had any enemy's. He'd always proven them wrong, determined not to be like all the other snot-nosed rich kids that he'd grown up around, thinking that they could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted; treating people like garbage just for the simple fact of being in a higher class than most.

So all of_ this_, being chased by a fucking _hit-man_, of all things, was foreign to him. This sort of danger was something he had never once encountered in his short life. And the worst thing, despite the probability of him being dead within the hour, or minute, was that he didn't have the faintest idea why. What was it all for?

A splashing footstep on the other side of the wall snapped him from his thoughts, sending him back to the dizzying, spiraling terror, clawing at him and threatening to drag him down over the edge.

Desperate and clutching at straws, he spotted a large, glass whiskey bottle lying in a puddle at his feet, and snatched it up, clutching it so that his knuckles turned white.

There was no way in hell he was going out without a fight.

Sidling along the wall as far as he dared go, melding against the brick and clutching the bottle in one hand, he held his breath, listening as the person on the other side came to a stop as-well.

The sound of a gun reloading made his blood run cold, his grip on the glass tightening to the point that he thought it might crack under the pressure.

The seconds seemed to stretch on for hours, the silence weighing down over the alley becoming almost crushing.

Marco tensed as he heard a small, barely audible intake of breath, and before he even realized what was happening, the man was around the corner, seemingly appearing out of thin air. His cold, hooded eyes held no trace of emotion as he stared Marco down, gun trained directly at his head.

Before he had the chance to fire, however, Marco released a high pitched, girlish shriek (a sound that he would never admit to making, even on his death bed), squeezing his eyes shut as he swung the bottle at his pursuer's head.

A loud shattering resonated through the alley as the bottle hit its mark, shards of glass tinkling to the wet pavement like rain.

Dropping what was left of the broken, jagged weapon, he lurched backward, stumbling over his own feet in the process, and raised his hands in front of himself defensively, awaiting the sure sound of gun fire.

"Please don't kill me, please,_ please_. I'm _begging_ y-"

_Thump_

Pausing in his pleas, Marco pried one of his eyes open.

No one was there.

Straightening up and dropping his hands back to his sides, brows knit together in confusion, he glanced down; only to find his pursuer lying face down on the asphalt, a thin stream of blood trickling down his temple.

Marco's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

_I killed him._

Cautiously, he took a few steps toward the figure lying sprawled on the pavement before him, and after taking great care to kick the gun away from his reach, he gingerly nudged him with the toe of his sneaker, heart thudding wildly in his chest.

When he didn't move, Marco knelt beside him. His chest felt tight, breathing restricted as he stared down at the motionless form, blood now streaming down the side of his face in a steady, thick flow.

True, this man had, only moments ago, been intent on killing him. And also true, if he hadn't smashed that bottle against his head, he would more than likely be dead right now, unless by some miracle he'd had a last minute change of heart. But, no matter how horrible a human being, death and murder just didn't sit right with Marco. At least, not by his own hand, and the fact that he had probably just killed this person was making it hard to breathe, his eyes swimming. He felt like he was going to vomit.

When he saw the gentle rise and fall of his chest, indicating that he was, in fact, still alive, Marco released the breath that he hadn't realized he was holding in, nearly tumbling backward at the cold waves of relief washing over him.

Leaning in closer, he cautiously raised a hand, pausing before brushing his sticky, coffee coated hair, courtesy of Marco, from his eyes.

Well, he certainly didn't _look_ like a cold blooded killer.

He was young; probably around Marco's age, and his unconscious state, his face was relaxed, cold expression from earlier absent, leaving him appearing almost child-like and peaceful.

Sighing, he slumped back against the pavement, leaning his back against the wall behind him and running a hand through his hair, leaving it sticky and wet. Blanching, he brought them to eye level, only to find the tips of his fingers red and smeared with blood.

Glancing up, he found that the man's hair was now dark and matted with it, the stream having not ceased in the slightest.

_I can't just leave him here... can I? I mean if I do he'll... he'll... __die__._

Suddenly, his phone began buzzing within his pocket, accompanied by the short burst of his ring tone. Jolting to stand as the noise ripped its way through the once silent alley, Marco dug frantically in his pocket, eyes glued to the man as he hit accept.

_Please don't wake up._

"Hello?" He was pleased that his voice sounded much stronger than he felt, considering that his legs felt like jelly beneath him.

"_Marco_?"

_Oh shit oh shit oh shi_- "Oh, hey, Dad."

"_Where did you go? Did you get the papers filed like I asked_?"

Marco couldn't help but roll his eyes. Of all things, of course that would be what was on his mind, first and foremost. Not his child's safety, oh no. "Yes, Dad."

"_Good. Where are you? I'm on my way out now_."

"I'm... uh.." He glanced back down to the man that lay, possibly dying, at his feet.

He couldn't leave him here. He just couldn't. It didn't matter that he had wanted him dead, and had chased him through god knows how many flights of stairs just to accomplish that. What mattered was that there was a man in front of him, bleeding out, that needed immediate medical attention. And soon. How could he possibly live with himself if he just walked away from him now, and let him... die?

As he'd been reminded by his mother, nearly a million times throughout his childhood, two wrongs do not make a right. He had never believed in an eye for an eye, or revenge. What did it help? Besides, maybe, by the grace of God, when this man woke up in the hospital, alive, instead of lying face down, dead in some back abandoned alley way, he would reconsider his life style; make a change for the better, and hopefully not continue his pursuit on Marco.

But he couldn't just walk away from this; he refused. It wasn't his place to decide whether or not someone deserved to die.

"I'm with friends."

There was a brief silence on the other end, before, "_Don't stay out too late_." and then the line went dead. Marco sighed, shoving his phone back into his pocket. _Ever caring, Dad._

Kneeling before the man once again, he exhaled through his nose, giving him a calculating once over.

_Now... how am I going to move you?_

* * *

Cold.

That was the first word that came to mind to describe how he felt, the second being uncomfortable.

He wasn't really sure where he was, or when the last time he had been conscious was, but what he did know was that there was a dull ache throbbing through his skull that was only growing in intensity with each passing second.

With a groan, he raised a hand to his face and let it rest on his forehead, which he found to be wrapped in a thick layer of gauze.

As he lay there, trying to grasp a memory that danced along the edges of his mind, just out of reach, and fending off the pain that started at his left temple, running all the way down to the base of his spine, he became vaguely aware of a slight rustling noise to his right.

Allowing his eyes to flutter open, and squinting against the searingly bright lights above him, the world came back into focus. He found himself staring at a white, unfamiliar ceiling, a pencil scratching away to his right. The smell of latex and sterility invaded his nose as he breathed in, making his heart sink to the depths of his stomach.

Hospital.

Eyes snapping fully open, Jean jerked upwards with a gasp, the room spinning for a moment before he was able to focus on the short, brunette nurse beside the bed, staring back at him with a startled expression.

"Hey, hey, easy, hun. Take it slow." He stared at her, only able to concentrate on the absence of a cool weight against his calf.

_My gun. Where is my gun?_

The thought of his gun brought the sudden rush of memories from the night prior back to him, flooding his mind; memories of a chase, the dark haired son of the CEO, an alleyway, and the fall into darkness...

_**Shit. **_

Ripping the covers that had been placed over him away, he swung his legs to the side of the bed, viciously ripping the IV that had been taped to his arm off and flinging it to the side as he moved to stand.

The nurse was on him then, her hand against his chest, trying to gently force him back down onto the bed. Her eyes were wide, shocked at his behavior, but her voice betrayed none of it. "Hun, it's going to be ok. You just had a little bang on the head, but you're alright. You just need to rest."

As he raised his eyes to her, she flinched back slightly, away from the glare being leveled at her. "Time. What is the time?" his tongue felt sluggish and slow, unwilling to form words.

She paused, checking the watch strapped to her wrist. "Nine in the morning. Is something wrong, h-"

"There will be if you call me 'hun' one more time." She stared at him for a moment before backing off, going back to whatever she had been writing on the clip board in her hands.

As he made himself busy, checking for the whereabouts of his phone, the nurse spoke again, humor in her voice. "You know, if I were you, I would try to refrain from getting in anymore bar fights. It doesn't seem like they're your niche."

He glanced up, brows drawn together in confusion. "What?"

She smiled slightly, "You don't remember?" when he didn't reply, she continued. "From what I was told, you got caught in a drunken brawl last night, sweetie. You're very lucky the boy that was there was nice enough to bring you in. The wounds to your head, without treatment, could have very easily killed you. I'm not sure an ambulance would have made it there in time.." She paused for a minute, shaking her head. "That boy carried you all the way here by himself, can you believe that?"

"No. I can't." His eyes narrowed slightly. _What kind of game is Bodt playing at?_

She seemed to not notice his tone, smiling warmly at some memory. "He was a sweet boy. Marco, I think he said his name was. Didn't stay long after he brought you here, though. Just long enough to make sure that you were going to be ok, and then said something about needing to get home before he just... ran off. It was the strangest thing, he- hey!"

He brushed past her, ignoring her grabbing hands and ministrations to try to get him back into bed, pushing the curtains out of the way that concealed his 'room' from the rest.

The hospital wasn't very big; probably something more along the lines of a family owned clinic, so it was short work finding the exit.

"You can't just le-"

It was warm outside. Well, warmer than it had been the day previous. The sun was out; shining down in beaming rays and setting the city alight with an almost summery glow. The sky was a pale blue; white, fluffy clouds scudding along lazily. It was peaceful.

Though Jean felt far from at peace.

What sort of medicine had they pumped through his veins while he had been unconscious? He felt numb; though apparently not numb enough to dull the pain. It was a slow, lagging feeling; like his actions were being delayed by a few seconds each time, neurotransmitters taking too long to relay their commands throughout his body.

He realized that he must look like hell; someone stumbling away from an accident, dazed and confused, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Not right now. There were too many thoughts whirring around inside his head, making it hard to concentrate on much else.

Bodt had... saved his life. But why? Why had he found it appropriate to save someone's life, who had nearly taken his own? It just didn't add up. That wasn't the way people operated in this world, and Jean would know that better than anyone.

It was part of his job to study people; analyze the target before making the strike. And the one thing above all that he had learned about human-beings throughout the years could be chalked up to one simple fact; they were selfish creatures.

People didn't go out of their way for others. That just wasn't the way it worked; it was a dog eat dog world. And if they did, it was more than likely for an ulterior motive, and not just for the sake of the person they were lending a hand to; trying to better their image, or expecting something in return for their kind deed. It was a harsh, insincere world that they inhabited, but that was just the way it was. That was the way it had always been, and would always be.

So _why_? What had he hoped to get out of saving Jean's life?

"Well, well, well. Look who _finally_ decided to join the land of the living." Jean jerked his head up, being lost in a whirl of blurred colors and distorted scenery before everything slowly fell back into focus. _Damn that fucking clinic._

"Jaeger?"

Eren leaned up away from the wall, his expression hard. "You let Bodt escape, and Robert is still alive. Did it occur to you _once_ last night to do your job, _at all_?"

Jean slowed, stopping in front of him. "Yeah. Though I was a bit busy, you know, being unconscious and all." He paused. "Come to think of it, why didn't they just send back up? Aka, _you_."

"I have assignments to take care of, too, you know. Didn't have time to trail after you and clean up your mess, and neither did anyone else. We all have jobs to do, and that was yours; and boy did you _royally_ fuck it up." Jean shouldered past him, finished listening. "If you're not going to do your job, then don't do it at all." He called to his back.

Jean stopped, turning on his heel. "Stuff it up your ass, Jaeger. I'm not in the mood for your shit today."

Eren smirked then, glancing up at Jean's forehead. "I'd say not. Looks like he got you pretty good, huh?" Suddenly remembering the thick layer of gauze wrapped around his skull, he tore it off, fighting a wince as it tugged on what felt to be stitches, and threw it off to the side and into a gutter, ignoring the bastard's poorly concealed snickering. "_Jesus_. Bested by a college student with absolutely no training in combat, _or_ a real weapon, and _you_ were the one holding a gun. Remind me again, why are you our top agent?"

"_Espèce de merde_. Did you just come here to laugh at me, or do you actually have something important to say?" He snapped. Eren trailed along beside him as he stalked off, hands clasped lazily behind his head.

"_Actually, _I came to give you a message. From Rivaille, since he said he was too busy to deal with your brand of 'shitery' today."

"Well then spit it out, I don't have all day."

"Eager to go back home and hide, try to make yourself not feel like such a failure?"

Jean turned on him, eyes blazing. "_Listen_-"

Eren's eyes narrowed as he took a step back, but grinned anyway, just for the simple fact of _knowing_ it would irritate Jean. "Ooh, touchy, touchy. He said you need to take care of the Bodt's, _both_ of them, tonight. He also said that if you didn't, he was going to shove his foot so far up your ass that you'll be shitting leather for 2 months."

_As eloquent as ever. _

"That it?"

"Yup."

"Good." Splitting off onto a side street, Jean left Eren behind, glad to finally be rid of him. He swore to the ends of the earth that nothing, _nothing_, could get under his skin like that kid. He hadn't been so bad in the beginning. Jean had actually been sort of fond of him; he was determined, got straight to the point without much side-tracking, and had what it took to get the job done right, no questions asked. The two of them had even shared lunch together a few times. But that was _before_ Rivaille had made the mistake of paying him one too many, very subtle, compliments. Bastard let it go to his head, and now he thought of himself as some sorta fucking prodigy.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he concentrated on getting home. He needed to re-equip, seeing as his gun was missing, and prepare; get to work on scoping out the Bodt Residence. This needed to be done, preferably as soon as possible, so he could put this whole ordeal behind him.

Nine years. Never in_ nine fucking years _of employment had he _ever _fucked up this badly. He'd always found a way to patch it up, right then and there, and correct his mistakes, and that was why he had been named top agent by none other than Rivaille himself.

And now, he had some twenty year old college student, no doubt holed up inside his place of residence in fear, that knew his face.

He knew his fucking _face_, and it would be _so_ easy for him to turn that information over to the cops.

Sudden images of his face being plastered on some 'Most Wanted' website filled his mind, having to hide his face from the crowd, unable to walk to streets freely, slinking around in back alleyways like a coward. He ground his teeth together, jaw flexing in anger

No. He wasn't going to let that happen. Not again; not after everything.

He was going to put an end to this. Tonight.

* * *

**Notes:**

**Better late than never, right? School's been crazy lately, what with the end of the year exams and overflow of work, so I haven't been able to get much writing done. But good news is, it'll be over really soon, and then I'll have tons more time to work on this, and probably start making the chapters a lot longer! ((Though this one ended up being a bit over a thousand more than the last ehehe))**

**Thanks for the follows, favs, and comment! It all means more than you know. I promise I'll try to start closing up the gaps a little between update times, putting more effort into it and all that jazz.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Translations:**

**Espèce de merde :: Piece of shit**


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